Choices
by Splotches
Summary: A collection of the various prompts that I have been writing for the 100 sexual themes challenge. Pairings include Vortex/Ratchet, Wheeljack/Ratchet. Warnings: non-con, sticky.
1. 51

**Prompt 51 of the 100 Sexual Themes Challenge - Rape**

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* * *

**Warnings: It's PWP, contains non-con below, and is sticky.

* * *

Sunstreaker glared at him. It was a terrible choice, one that no one should have had to make – between his brother and his lover, and Vortex knew this, much to his delight. He grinned at the yellow warrior and the medic, although they could not see it, waiting for a response. None came.

"So, Sunstreaker, what's your choice? I don't mind either way." Vortex leered at the handsome mech, appreciating the fine form of the immobile yellow mech chained up against the wall.

"Your brother…" Vortex trailed off as he stalked over to the red mech lying prone on the floor, injured during the last battle. The mech was barely conscious, and his chassis was a mess. Vortex crouched down, dragging a finger across the exposed circuitry. The mech shifted, moaning in pain, and Vortex began a mental countdown, waiting for one of the Bots to snap. Five, four, three, two, one…

"No, don't!" The medic cried out. Vortex smirked to himself. Bingo. He rose, swiftly crossing the cell to the corner where Ratchet was chained.

"Or your mate?" Vortex trailed a finger across the medic's mouth, relishing the slight shudder running through the Autobot. The other mech started insulting him from across the cell.

"Let go of him, you fragger. If you've enough bearings you would release him and fight me, you slagging glitch." The warrior called out. Vortex was well aware of the Autobot's past history in the gladiatorial rings of Kaon, and was not stupid enough to respond to his taunts. Instead, he knew of a much better way of getting to the mech. His mask clicked open.

"Sunny, don – mmmf," Ratchet was cut off as the 'copter roughly grabbed the back of his helm, forcing him into a harsh kiss. He stubbornly tried to keep his mouth closed, but a finger digging into the sensitive wires in his chassis had him gasping out in pain. Vortex took advantage of this immediately, glossa entering the medic's mouth, tasting him.

Vortex's spike twitched as Ratchet struggled in his grip, making a mental note to record the entire proceeding. He was sure Swindle would appreciate the credits this recording would undoubtedly fetch from the other Cons that shared his… _inclinations_ in interfacing.

He had to admit this was one of Megatron's better ideas, first conceived when they found out the Autobot twin warriors had gotten involved with their chief medic. The Decepticon leader had given the three of them to the interrogator to _play_ with them for a little while after they had been captured in a battle, certain that a stint with the Combaticon would be extremely effective in damaging the trio physically and emotionally.

Well, Vortex certainly wasn't going to let Megatron down.

* * *

Sunstreaker could not do this. He loved them both dearly, but…

Glancing at Sideswipe, who was close to deactivation, he made up his mind. Sideswipe would not survive the torture Vortex would inflict on him.

"Don't touch Sideswipe…" He whispered, spark breaking.

* * *

Ratchet clenched his denta as a finger probed the entrance to his valve. He squirmed from the uncomfortable intrusion. Vortex, kneeling between Ratchet's legs, seemed not to care about his discomfort, thrusting two fingers deep and hard into the medic, until the mech's lubricating system kicked in.

But Ratchet knew he had to endure this, for Sideswipe, for Sunstreaker.

"Ooh look at this, Autoscum, it seems like your little medic's _wet_." Vortex purred, enjoying this entirely too much. He moaned as he pulled out his fingers out of Ratchet, making a show of licking the pink stains from them for the benefit of Sunstreaker. "Mmm… the little slut tastes good too."

Ratchet turned his helm away from Sunstreaker, humiliated. He couldn't face his lover now that he knew that Ratchet was responding to the 'copter's unwelcome ministrations.

"Last chance to change your mind, Autobot," Vortex grinned and crawled on top of Ratchet, rubbing his spike against the entrance of the medic's valve, making sure the yellow mech could see every little movement he made.

"Take me instead, please!" Sunstreaker, struggling against his restrains, howled. "Just let him go"

It was almost amusing to see the two mechs beg him to take them instead of the other. Ah, the perils of love.

"I don't remember including you in the equation, but since you're begging so sweetly, Brawl can have you after this."

"It's alright, Sunny, it's alright," gasped Ratchet, struggling to keep his voice even as Vortex pressed the head of his spike in, stretching him slowly.

"No, wait –" Sunstreaker began, but was cut off.

"Oops, sorry, time's up!" Vortex gleefully announced, not sounding sorry at all.

Leaning down towards the white mech's helm, he growled in his audios, "Remember, medic. This is entirely Sunstreaker's fault. I gave him a choice, but it turns out he loves his brother more than you." With that, Vortex thrust forward in one stroke, burying him deep within Ratchet.

Ratchet cried out as Vortex's large length impaled him, stretching him to the point of pain. He pounded his arms futilely against the copter's chest plates, trying to do anything that would stop the hurt. Above him, Vortex had his optics shuttered from the sensation of being buried within a slick, hot valve, pausing in his thrusts for a moment to cackle at the look of dismay that twisted the handsome Lamborghini's face.

"The slut's tight. Between your brother and you, I'd have figured he would be looser than this, _Sunny."_ Vortex taunted, before picking up a brutal pace, slamming into the keening medic.

Sunstreaker's engine rumbled in anger, and he hated himself for not being able to do more for either of his loved ones – Sideswipe was still a motionless pile of metal on the other side of the cell, and Ratchet... He looked away, unable to watch the Decepticon pounding into Ratchet.

* * *

Vortex shuddered as he overloaded, spilling his load deep within Ratchet. He looked down at the dazed medic, mouth agape, optics flickering white. The Autobot had ceased any form of resistance midway through the interface, which, really, took half the fun out of the entire experience. At least Sunstreaker did not pause in the creative insults he was hurtling at Vortex.

He rested on top of the unresisting Autobot for a moment, before pulling out. The medic was a sight, lying there, legs sprawled apart, and transfluid leaking from his exposed valve. Reaching down, Vortex gathered some of the fluid, pausing on his way out to smear it all over Sunstreaker's faceplates.

The warrior tried to bite him, and Vortex withdrew his fingers."Oh, snappy," he commented jovially, a large smirk still on his face. "If you guys are lucky, I may have even sparked him. Isn't that great?"

A growl answered him. Sunstreaker's systems were running too hot from the strain of the situation, and Vortex even detected a little glint of madness in those optics glaring at him. The Autobots would not be able to call upon those three to fight for quite some time.

Mission accomplished then.

Vortex's mask snapped close, hiding his grin, as he walked out of the cell. He paused at the entrance, calling over his shoulder.

"And I didn't forget your generous offer, Sunny, Brawl will be here to play next."


	2. 51: Aftermath

**Prompt 51 cont.**

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He's lying next to them, but Ratchet has never felt so far away from his bondmates.

He has seen the way they look at him, the way they stop themselves from touching him, the way they move skittishly around him to avoid even being in his personal space. After all, who would want someone who was spoiled, broken?

Even now, as they lie on the expanded birth they share, there exists a hair's breadth of space between his right arm and Sideswipe's chassis when before there was none. Ratchet knows Sunstreaker doesn't even want to be next to him, his yellow mate opting to let Sideswipe lie between the two of them – the excuses the warrior had mumbled about preferring the edge of the berth were so flimsy they wouldn't fool a sparkling. Ratchet can't discern their feelings. All three of them have clamped down tightly on their ends of the bond.

They really didn't want him anymore, did they?

Ratchet's vents hitch in sorrow, but he forces himself to calm himself. He doesn't want his mates to pick up the sound and think that he was having memory loops. In fact, he has tried his best to shove the entire Primus damned incident into the furthest corner of his processor, but he is still plagued by the ghosts of Vortex's touches.

Maybe his mates were right to avoid him, because maybe if they touched him his processors would imagine a 'copter in their place instead. But if this were true, Ratchet wouldn't know, because they haven't laid a finger on him outside of the inevitable brushes here and there.

Ratchet sighs, and wonders how long it would take before he's cleared for active duty again. The walls of his quarters are slowly closing in on him, and he wants nothing more than to throw himself back into his work again.

First Aid, acting CMO for now, had done an admirable job of putting Sideswipe together after they were rescued, while Ratchet just lay there, wallowing in his own sorrow. He couldn't even patch back his own mate. He was a waste of space, was nothing more than a useless mech now.

Staring at the ceiling, Ratchet wants to be held by his mates again, wants everything to go back to normal, wants a hug.

He feels the berth shifting slightly. It is Sunstreaker turning on his side, away from Sideswipe and him. Undoubtedly, they must want to get further away from him, the stained mech. He tries to tell himself that it's nothing personal, but Ratchet's spark shatters just a little bit more inside.

He just wants his bondmates back.

He's lying next to them, but Ratchet has never felt so far away from his bondmates.

* * *

He's lying next to them, but Sideswipe has never felt so far away from his bondmates.

He was unconscious for almost the entire duration, but he understands the severity of the decision Sunstreaker made. His twin is on his right and his mate on the other side and Sideswipe is sure none of them are recharging.

They all are haunted by their own demons of what happened in the 'Cons' brig.

Sideswipe feels guilty for the recklessness he displayed taking on both Skywarp and Thundercracker at once. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have gotten hurt, his mates wouldn't have stopped to patch him back, wouldn't have been captured by the 'Cons who found them, and this whole slagging mess wouldn't have happened.

If he hadn't gotten hurt, _he_ could have been the one that Vortex took instead. Sunstreaker would not have been forced to make that awful decision, although it is one that saved his life. Sideswipe hears Ratchet's intakes hitch and sputter, and is sure that he would have been a better choice than the silently sobbing medic next to him.

At the same time, a small part of him, the one that he keeps tightly clamped down and blocked from the bond, is secretly glad that it wasn't him beneath Vortex, that his brother chose Ratchet instead of him. Guilty, he ruthlessly squishes that train of thought. It is so selfish of him to think that way.

But what used to be a place of peaceful recharge (and other strenuous nightly activities) is now filled with awkward silence and tensions. The three of them lie so still on the berth, afraid of disturbing the others. Not for the first time, Sideswipe wishes the whole thing didn't happen.

Sideswipe wonders if they will ever get past this.

He's lying next to them, but Sideswipe has never felt so far away from his bondmates.

* * *

He's lying next to them, but Sunstreaker has never felt so far away from his bondmates.

Sunstreaker wants to go out on the frontlines again, to tear, to rip those fraggers apart for doing this to them, but Prowl had taken the lot of them off duty. Can't they see he needed to do something other than to stay in his quarters cycle after cycle, afraid to touch Ratchet, afraid to meet his brother's accusing optics that this was his entire fault?

At the same time, a niggling little programme at the back of his processor runs the probability of him being captured by the Decepticons again, and the non-zero chance scares him.

Ratchet hates him now, he is sure of it. He sees the way that Ratchet flinches away from him, sees the way his mate stiffens in his presence. Sunstreaker wants to reach out to sooth him, but is afraid his touch would remind the medic of his terrible choice. He thinks it is better to give the medic his own time to seek out physical contact again.

Every time Sunstreaker shutters his optics, he sees his mate's face. Sometimes, Ratchet's face is contorted in a wordless snarl, blaming him for allowing Vortex to rape him, blaming him for choosing Sideswipe over him.

Other times, his memory banks pull up images of Ratchet's sprawled form on the floor with Vortex thrusting into him, the medic's mouth open in a wordless plea for help he was unable to answer.

It hurts especially because Sunstreaker knows all the scenarios his processor comes up with are a direct result of his choice. The whole thing is his fault.

Even Sideswipe blames him, Sunstreaker knows, for not doing enough to protect them while Ratchet was repairing the red mech.

They hate him, and Sunstreaker hates himself too. He is terrified of the anger, the rejection that would flow through the bond if he opens it up, so he maintains the tight grip on it. The silence in the bond is almost painful for someone who has lived his entire life connected to another mech, but Sunstreaker figures it beats the alternative.

He turns away from his bondmates, ashamed. How could he even lie on the same berth as his mates when he was such a strutless mech who didn't help them when they were in danger?

He's lying next to them, but Sunstreaker has never felt so far away from his bondmates.


	3. 35

From the TF kink meme: _Dear anon authors: Please to be looking at the second panel of this meme: http:/ deviantart .com/gallery/#/d2y489j_  
_And please to be writing some lovely cross-faction Ratchet/Wheeljack, with Wheeljack as a Decepticon._

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**Prompt 35 of the 100 Sexual Themes Challenge - 1:58am**

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"Oh doc-bot, you know what that face does to me."

"F-frag you," Ratchet managed to muster as much vehemence as he could into those two words. Which, honestly, wasn't a lot.

"You know that I know that you want this as much as I do, so why bother fighting?"

"Because it isn't right. You're a Decepticon, you're the enemy." The words sounded hollow even as Ratchet said them.

"So when has that stopped you? I'm pretty sure the past _meetings_ weren't just dreamt up by me."

"They were dreams, alright." Ratchet mumbled. Louder, he said, "This can't go on anymore."

"Funny, you said the same thing when I was fragging you last cycle. And the cycle before that. You didn't seem to care much when you were moaning my name."

"Shut up," Ratchet muttered, but at the same time he spread his legs just a wider more to give wandering fingers better access.

Wheeljack just smirked, feeling the medic's interface panel click open. He wasted no time in reaching down to the extending spike, stroking it to full hardness. Lowering himself to hover just above it, he started rubbing the entrance of his valve against the medic – he was dripping wet already and the friction was processor-blowing.

"You slagging tease," Ratchet arched his hips upwards, trying to get more of that delicious heat.

"Beg me."

Ratchet rolled his optics, opting to say nothing but reaching up and pulling the slightly smaller 'Con down on his spike. The heat that enveloped him was exquisite – Wheeljack rarely let him use his valve, and it was the oh-so-snug fit that almost had Ratchet overloading there and then. It was a challenge not to.

"Oh, you cheater." Wheeljack grumbled, pausing for a moment to adjust to the medic's full length in him.

Ratchet grinned up at him, taking the opportunity to tweak the wires around the engineer's hip joints.

A devious glint suddenly appeared in Wheeljack's optics, making Ratchet shiver.

"Guess I just have to do this." With that, Wheeljack leaned over the boxy medic's chassis and pinched a relay wire buried in the side of Ratchet's neck.

Ratchet's optic's widened, as he realised what the 'Con was doing, but his motor relays had offlined by the time his processor, hazy from the pleasure, caught up.

"Mmm, much better like this," 'Jack said, before bending down to nuzzle the medic.

* * *

"Primus, Wheeljack, I'm getting back at you for this." Ratchet moaned, as Wheeljack's inner walls clamped down on him, sending him into his own overload, transfluid spurting into the engineer.

"Is that a promise, medic?" Wheeljack leered at the white mech below him, before helping Ratchet to online the relays for his limbs again.

"You bet. What happened to your spike, anyway?" Ratchet knew Wheeljack preferred spiking him, the mech had said that most 'Cons, like him, were uncomfortable about letting others use their valve. Something about the loss in social standing if word got out they were the ones bottoming, or the like. Personally, Ratchet couldn't comprehend how the 'Cons even found berth partners if everyone disliked being spiked.

"Let's just say I had an accident testing a certain device Skywarp commissioned me to create for him."

"A device that involved your spike?"

"Don't ask."

* * *

"You know, you could join us," Ratchet broke the peaceful silence that settled over them, as he worked on repairing Wheeljack's damaged spike.

Wheeljack threw his head back, head fins flashing blue as he laughed, before darkening as their owner grew serious.

"You were there when I was court marshalled, were you not?"

Ratchet nodded, hesitantly, not pausing in his work.

"Then you should slagging well know that I'm not welcome there. Primus, do you know when those damned Autobots see me, the only words I've heard from them are 'eat slag and die' or 'I hope your next explosion kills you so I don't have to'?" Wheeljack spat out, "And you expect them to welcome me with open arms just because I'm fragging their chief medic?"

"The explosion was not your fault, 'Jack, the manufacturers were found to have screwed up in the isotope composition of the chemical"

"Doesn't change a single thing now. Even if I'm not responsible for the death of Moonracer, I've killed enough Autobots after that to rightfully earn their hatred."

"I'm sure they'll…"

Wheeljack cut him off, reciting dully, "Plasma guns? Nesflix virus? Thermal grenades?"

Ratchet stiffened, optics flaring as his memory bank pulled up the scenes of his medbay after Wheeljack unleashed a new invention on them.

"You guys think I'm some kind of disease. With the 'Cons, my nickname there is definitely not the 'walking explosion'. They actually appreciate me for who I am, well, more like what I can do, as cheesy as that sounds."

"I appreciate you," Ratchet offered quietly, still reattaching sensory wires. Sometimes, even Ratchet had to wonder why he was willing to continue with the illegal meetings with the Head of the 'Cons Science Department. Wheeljack was certainly responsible for many dangerous weapons that caused heavy casualties, yet he couldn't stop himself from meeting with the mech who grew up with him in one of Iacon's poorer districts.

"Of course you do. I'm the only one who gets your engine revving like this."

Ratchet batted wandering hands away, and sighed, "Please 'Jack, I really lo- like you, and I wish I could just spend more time with you instead of meeting in the middle of a desert when everyone else is recuperating."

"Ratchet…" A hint of warning crept into Wheeljack's voice.

"We could even bo-"

"Ratchet, drop it," The engineer said sharply. Then, feeling a little guilty, he added in a lighter tone, "If you really want this, then why don't _you _defect, huh? The 'Cons could certainly use a _talented _medic like you." He trailed his hands down the medic's sides, making even a word like talented sound lewd.

"You know I can't. And the patient files are confidential…"

"So erase them," He answered easily, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

"They are my friends, I can't abandon them."

"Then what makes you think I'm willing to give _my _friends up? Although we could run away… but my duty calls."

"The patients need me," Ratchet agreed. "Then I suppose this is the only option, isn't it?"

"Took you long enough to realise that. Besides, with the way things are now, we've got all our bases covered. If the Autobots win, you can vouch for me and we'll live happily ever after. If the 'Con's win, I have first dibs on you as my pet," Wheeljack observed, arching one optic ridge suggestively.

'You slagger," Ratchet said, amusement colouring his voice.

"Hey!" Wheeljack pretended to be affronted. "I had to poison Hook's energon for two whole megacycles before he gave up on challenging me."

"There, all done." Ratchet patted the newly repaired spike, inadvertently drawing a hiss from the engineer as sensors onlined and recalibrated.

Wheeljack had, somewhere along the four million or so years the Cybertronian civil war had been ongoing, turned into a mech with a totally different set of values, living in a different culture with different mechs. However the 'Con, Ratchet mused, had still the spark for innovation and creativity – the delicious sensations from sensors in his elbow joint that Ratchet didn't even know were capable of producing (and he was a good medic) was testament to that.

Maybe he wanted something more, but he knew the two of them had too many vested interests in both sides of the war to proceed any further. Maybe, if the Primus-damned war ever ended, they could have a future together, but for now, Ratchet understood this was all they could get.

And for him, it was enough.

That was the reason why both Wheeljack and Ratchet tolerated the status quo, the reason why Wheeljack offered a hand to the medic, pulling the white mech up, "That was fun, doc-bot. See you after the next battle. We have to see if your repairs work."

The reason why, although Ratchet snorted at that, he was already looking forward to the next skirmish.


End file.
